A Race against Time
by luckychicken
Summary: Little Harry Potter lay in his cupboard, trying to get to sleep. Unknown to him, there were people in the world who wished for his death. Little Harry is kidnapped from his bed by a blonde man.
1. The Flight

**Summary: **LittleHarry Potter lay in his cupboard, trying to get to sleep. Unknown to him, there were people in the world who wished for his death. Little Harry is kidnapped from his bed by a blonde man.

**Author's Notes: **I've just re-upoaded this story, the only differences to the first two chapters is the addition of dates. I'm so sorry it has been so long since I last updated anything but I've recently done a load of planning for this story so all I really need to do now is just write it. I'm really quite sad because I thought it would most probably be easiest to just delete the story and start again but I also lost all the reviews :(. Anyway I hope all enjoy :). This is now going to be the third time of uploading this story now - i forgot to add the disclaimer :O oops, sorry J..

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, or Hogwarts, absolutely none of it. I'm really sorry I forgot to add this on here earlier :S.

**A Race against Time**

**Chapter One – The Night of the Departure**

**The Flight**

**28****th**** October 1985**

He tried to be a big, brave boy. He really did. But sometimes, like tonight, he wished he had his mummy, or even his daddy. But they were gone, never coming back. Sometimes he wondered what he had done wrong, how he had been so bad that his mummy and daddy had left him and Auntie Petunia and Uncle Vernon always had to shout at him. If they would tell him what he had done wrong he would try to make it all better. But they never told him as they had gone. Auntie Petunia and Uncle Vernon were always telling him off, telling him he had been naughty. That was why he had to do his chores, why he never got any toys like Dudley did, why he slept in the cupboard under the stairs and not in a bedroom upstairs like everyone else. He didn't mind his cupboard that much though, it was small and dark; he felt safe in his cupboard. The toys that Dudley had broken, and therefore then given to him, lay in his cupboard. His favourite toy was a teddy bear, he had named it Archie. Sandy brown in colour made darker by the stains, Archie only had one eye left and his right arm had become half unstitched causing the stuffing inside to puff out. But he loved him all the same. Archie was his best and only friend. He hugged him closer. It was very rare now for Harry to become scared of a night time whilst inside his cupboard. When he was younger he used to cry a lot and he would sometimes wet the bed, but not now; he was a big boy now; he had just had his fifth birthday. And five year old boys don't get scared, or cry or wet the bed. But tonight he was cold, huddling further under the covers, Harry curled up into a ball, Archie nestled safely against his chest. Harry was sure he could hear the spiders scuttling around the room, speedily weaving their webs in the darkness of the night. He shut his eyes tight, praying to fall asleep instantly but that never happened.

He had tried counting sheep once before but that didn't work, how are you meant to fall asleep after seeing 20 sheep zoom past; each trying to race the last? Harry had produced his own creation for falling into slumber; a woman a man and a little black haired boy. The little boy was him, of course, and the images of his mother and father were unclear for he didn't really know what they looked like. They all played and laughed and loved. And it was this feeling; the complete love surrounding them, the very breath they inhaled in, so full of this love, that sent Harry off to the land of nod. But tonight even that would not allow him to sleep. He lay quietly in his small bed, afraid of making a sound and just listens in the darkness. Everything is so much easier to hear in the dark; Uncle Vernon's snoring, so loud Harry is surprised the whole house doesn't quiver. An owl hoots outside most probably trying to find some food. The scuttling of a small animal hurrying across wood. The ticking of the clock on the mantel piece in the living room. It all sounds so loud and close. That is until there was a clattering heard in the kitchen, deafening to Harry's ears. He clamps his hands over them and squeezes his eyes shut tight and starts shaking slightly as he hears the squeaking of footsteps on the kitchen floor.

The footsteps stop outside of his cupboard. Harry curls himself into an even tighter ball his whole body quivering in fear. Archie is scrunched close against him. An involuntary whimper escaped his mouth, which he clamps shut as soon as the noise emerges, his eyes opening insanely wide at the same time. The slide of metal against metal was heard just before the resounding click of the lock opening is; the sound thunderously loud along with his heartbeat. His eyes snap shut once again when light slowly creeps through as the door opens up more and more. A shadow of a tall figure extends over most of the small cupboard, gentle light filtering in from behind the figure. Harry slowly dares to open his eyes; from his point of view he can see the unusually booted feet of the intruder. The boots shine a purple-black in the light, with scales much larger than a snake's, the toes ending in a point. Slowly trailing his eyes skyward, Harry could see the tight dark purple trousers of the man in front of him being hidden by a black clock. The shirt is silky black. Looking up into the man's face Harry first notices the hair colour; so light it is almost white, but this man is too young to have white hair already; there are no wrinkles upon this man's face, which is, he notices, pale as paper, pointed and angular as a smirk begins to plant itself upon the man's features.

"Potter" He says, amusement ringing in his tone clear for all to hear. Harry stares at him with wide eyes; this man knows his name. An even greater feeling of fear rushes through his body as Harry stares at the man facing him. A movement could be heard from upstairs and the man all but leaps for Harry, grabbing his arm. It takes the man no effort to haul Harry from his bed and in seconds the two are by the door. Harry is motionless, helplessly clinging to Archie and the blanket that was covering him as he is pulled down the street, the blanket trailing behind along the pavement; what would Auntie Petunia say about that? The question races through his mind and sends tremors of horror down his spine. That is, until the man tightens his grip on Harry's arm, so tight to the point of painful and his feet can't keep up with the brisk walk of the other. Tears start leaking from his eyes and no longer does he care if he is meant to be a big boy or not. He cries relentlessly. Huge bawls tearing from his throat. At the end of the street he is suddenly yanked to the side behind a large tree. The abruptness causing him to pause fractionally before he begins once again, louder this time; wanting all to hear his distress.

A hand is clamped over his mouth, stopping him mid-wail. "Shut up, Potter. You have caused me enough problems already; you shall not do it at the age of five." The venom causes Harry to gulp loudly and just sniff. "Now, we need to find somewhere to stay for the time being." The man looks to his left and right before ordering, "Come."

Harry has no idea where he is being led to, just tries to keep up without tripping up too much. He clings to Archie's left arm as his own is wrenched almost hard enough for it to pop from his body. Still, tears run down his reddened cheeks, silent now, he snuffles; his nose is now runny too. They walk down many narrow, dark alleyways. All of which Harry has never seen let along been down before; the Dursleys would never go near something as foul and disgusting as these walkways. And as he looks up and catches a glimpse of his captor's face in the rare light he realises that his captor would not usually spend his time in these lanes either. He can tell because the man's face is scrunched up in a way that could only be from repulsion and disdain. When he sniffles again and catches a smell of the thick air around, he realises why. Do people who live in houses near here not own toilets? Soon Harry can hear loud noises, loud calls can be heard, scuffles on the ground. He can hear people, lots of people. The orange light of street lamps can be seen filtering in from the end of the alley. Hope bubbles within Harry. These people could save him. But suddenly he is dragged off to the left, away from the noise of people. Back into darkness once again. It carries on like this for what feels like forever to Harry. But his captor eventually comes to a stop; Harry is unsure why to begin with.

"We shall stay here for the time being, make yourself comfortable." Harry looks up at the blonde, confused. The man doesn't look down at him, just looks around. A gesture that Harry quickly imitates. His brows furrow low, all he can see under the light of the moon is trees and twigs and leaves and more leaves and twigs and trees. How could he be comfortable sitting on twigs and leaves? He eventually gathers up his courage to ask a question.

"B...But" he takes a big breath, puffs out his chest and carries on. Deciding that being polite to the man would be less harmful. "Sir, how can I sleep here?" his head tilts in question and his eyes burn with curiosity. The man finally looks at him, his silver eyes staring unblinkingly into Harry's own. It is several moments before he receives the answer.

"Potter," he spits, Harry recoils slightly at both the vicious tone and the hatred that shows clearly in the man's eyes and face. "To sleep, most people lie down and close their eyes. If you can sleep in a cupboard I'm sure you shall be able to spend a night under the stars. But of course, Mister pampered Potter would never dream of falling asleep outside. You will just have to deal with it." The man turns away, searching for something on the floor. Harry is ready to try to hold back more tears but finds that none come. He silently walks to a tree trunk, with his head downcast, he slumps down and curls into a shivering ball pulling Archie tight to his chest. His eyelids are becoming very heavy, just as he is about to drift off something lands on him; startling him to almost full wakefulness. He finds that it is his blanket. Cuddling underneath Harry doesn't even have the energy to say thank you before he is drifting off to sleep. His dreams are plagued with unsettling thoughts.

**End of Chapter One**


	2. The March of a Prince and a Boy

**Chapter Two – The First Day**

**The March of a Prince and a Boy**

**29****th**** October 1985**

Harry's eyes fluttered open slowly at the first signs of morning light. The birds perched in the branches of the trees, twittering happily to one another. He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings, wondering why he had been sleeping at the base of a tree, nestled amongst the early fallen red and golden leaves. He picked one up, his brows furrowing in concentration, it was larger than his hand and had an unusual splattering of different colours, his favourite by far being the bright red of a young autumn leaf. But leaves always seemed best green; alive and healthy. A rustling to his side caused Harry to whip his head round to see what had created the noise. Suddenly it all came rushing back to him; the uneasiness he had felt in his cupboard, the footsteps followed by the door opening, running down the street with tears and snot streaking down his face. There, bending over something on the wood's floor, was his blond haired captor. Harry tried to crawl backwards but soon hit the hard, uneven bark of the large tree trunk. He wanted to run. To get as far away from this man as possible. But he was frozen in place. His green eyes wide and staring at the tall figure bent over.

"For heaven's sakes, Potter, _shut up_!" The blond stood up to his full height, towering over the young boy, Harry huddled further away. The stare was as cold as the colour of the eyes, before the man whipped back around and carried on as he had been. The silence was deadly and the tension swirled thick around their heads. It was a long time before either said a word. That was the reason why Harry almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the words spoken to him. "Breakfast is ready if you wish for some." It was spoken quietly, the wind nearly carrying it away unheard. The man still had his back to Harry. Carefully, Harry stood; walking slowly with much trepidation towards the blond man. Once he came close enough he realised that true to his word the man did have food. Bread it looked like. But Harry wasn't going to complain; he had had worse meals at the Dursley's and they had scolded him for protesting. In agreement his tummy decided to grumble, loudly, at that moment. A chuckle could be heard from the man next to him; although it was a rather superior chuckle. The piece of bread was held out to him and he snatched it instantly. Hurriedly, he shoved half of the piece in his mouth, chewing as quickly as possible before swallowing. Already he felt better.

"You know if you eat slowly; savour your food, it often tastes much nicer and is more fulfilling. But of course the Boy Who Lived could never learn manners; it's far too beneath his pre-eminence." It caused Harry to still his chewing. The first part had sounded light, like someone would speak as if talking about the weather but the last sentence had been cold and bitter. Harry wondered why the man had called him the Boy Who Lived. But he would not question; he had questioned the Dursley's before and had soon learned to keep quiet. The curious face and the slowing of his eating the only noticeable signs that he had heard what the man had said. But there was one question that nagged him so much more than the rest; why? Why had the blond man taken him? Was it because he had been naughty? Was it because the Dursley's didn't want him anymore? Why? And it was this curiosity that led the little black haired boy to voice his question.

"Why?" He asked, emotions swimming on the surface clearly. Snapping his mouth shut, Harry scrambled to control his unstable feelings. He was a big boy now. The same sentence ran through his head repeatedly like a mantra. All the while he stared at the blonde man, who had snapped his head up at the sudden question. The man looked at him with an eyebrow raised in question. But Harry said no more, just stared into the pools of silver opposite him. It was a long time before any more was said; the man didn't know the question Harry was asking and Harry was unwilling to speak more in case he started crying again like he had the night before. He was a big boy now. The unusually dressed man finally seemed to realise the query Harry had.

"You wish to know why I have taken you?" He asked in a disbelieving tone, as if Harry should have already known this answer. Harry nodded his head emphatically, deciding to ignore the belittling tone. He wriggled in his place on the ground trying to find a more comfortable seat, thinking that this could be a long story. The leaves and twigs on the wood's floor rustled and snapped under his weight. Harry was hardly heavy; he wasn't a football like his cousin, quite the opposite in fact. He liked to pretend he was a bird. He wished he could fly now, away from the blonde man. But the blonde man _had_ given him breakfast. He often wished he could fly; fly away from the Dursleys, fly away from school bullies. Fly and have the wind blow his hair out of his face, making him squint due to it hitting his eyes, even if he did wear glasses. His overly large clothes flapping in the rush. The sun warming his chilled body. "I was ordered here. Believe me, Potter, if it was down to me I would be nowhere near here." And the blonde man went back to silently eating his breakfast. The sneer actually encouraged Harry to ask his next question.

"Who are you?" He asked boldly. Now thirsty for all knowledge on his kidnapper. The man had hardly said a word to him in the whole time they had been together and what he did say had been harsh, sharp and short. Harry had never seen this man, well he couldn't remember him and this man was quite memorable with his shocking blonde hair. He wondered who had sent the man. But was more curious whether the man knew who he was. He seemed to hate Harry. But then everyone hated Harry. So that was really no different to anyone else but this man seemed to have a personal problem with him. But then Harry thought that if he was ever ordered to sleep on the floor of a wood after kidnapping someone who did nothing but cry in his face then he, too, might not be happy with them either. He decided to be good, or at least better for this man; maybe he would be kinder then and not hate Harry. The expression on the man's face was one of utter incredulity. But it soon morphed into one of realisation. Harry didn't understand why.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. I wish for you to give me as much respect as I deserve being a Malfoy." It was haughty. The nose snuck up into the air with an air of arrogance. Harry couldn't remember the name at all. This man seemed to think he was very important. Harry wondered if maybe he was a Prince. But why would a Prince kidnap him? To save him from the Dursleys? - But the blonde man didn't like Harry. So he asked.

"Are you a Prince?" It was a simple enough question. His eyes grew wide as he thought of the possibility that this man was a Prince. Maybe he could go and see this man's castle. With its throne and all the armour and weapons. His mind reeled at all the thoughts. Maybe he could live there, with the Prince. He looked hopefully into the eyes of the blonde man, praying with all his might that this man was in fact a Prince. The blonde looked back slightly wide eyed himself before he seemed to gain control once again; stuck his nose in the air once again.

"Well of course I'm a Prince." Was his answer and Harry's eyes bulged out of their sockets. It took Harry several moments to get over his shock before he had the ability to move again. He sat up, correcting his hunched posture. And looked at the Prince with the amount of awe and respect a Prince should receive. He gulped and felt ashamed for his recent behaviour towards the Prince. The cold, gray eyes of the Prince bore into him with a mask of indifference plastered over his facial features. Harry, now, had even more questions he wished to ask but decided that it would most likely not be appreciated and kept himself quiet. Silence once again descended upon to the two. A wind had picked up within the wood, causing leaves to rustle and branches to sway. The ground was dappled in light due to the interception of the trees.

The Prince stood after a while. He packed his things back into a black, what seemed to be scaly, bag; one that seemed very small considering the numerous items he was placing within it. He scattered all the leaves and twigs on the ground in close proximity. Harry wondered what he was doing but didn't say anything more. He thought it a good idea to follow suit and stood himself; gathering Archie and his blanket, wondering at the same time where he could keep them for the day. This query was answered when the Prince opened his bag and told Harry to place his items in there. It seemed too small and, if he was being truthful, he was still quite scared so he therefore only placed his blanket inside the bag, keeping Archie safe and grasped within his clutches. Harry added his own efforts in to scatter the nearby leaves and fallen twigs even though he didn't know the reason for this activity. It must have been half an hour before the Prince decided they had done enough. Harry was grateful as he had a need to be attended to.

"Prince Draco?" he asked hesitantly, unsure of how to address the blonde man. The answer he was rewarded with was the blonde man's attention along with a raised brow. Taking this as an invitation to carry on he asked just as hesitantly, "I'm sorry..... I need the toilet. Please." His need had become so great that he was nearly dancing on the spot. The Prince snorted at him. Harry blushed from embarrassment and suddenly found the leaves they had just rearranged very interesting. He looked up through his dark fringe, his head still bowed, waiting for the Prince's verdict of where he should release his bladder.

"Potter, there are many trees around here. Just don't do it anywhere near me. Surely you are of an age where you have the ability to relieve your bladder by yourself." The tone was a mixture between amusement and disgust. Harry ducked his head down even further and his skin colour became even closer to that of a tomato. He hurriedly dashed away, being careful not to trip on the uneven ground. He didn't want to go too far away in case he got lost.

He was finished quickly but had nowhere to wash his hands. He went back to the Prince, who as soon as he returned handed him a piece of what looked like kitchen roll. "Rub it over your hands." The Prince ordered him. Harry complied and was amazed when it seemed to wet and foam like soap of its own accord. As soon as he had washed every part of his hands it became dry once again and dried his hands off. He was still supporting wide eyes when he gave the piece of magical kitchen roll back to the Prince. It was put back inside the bag ready, Harry believed, to be disposed of or ready for its next usage. Harry felt his hands, checking for any differences. The only one he could find was the extra soft feeling. He stared at them in amazement. That was until the Prince snapped him out of his trance by saying, "we must leave here; I personally would prefer a better accommodation for tonight; I believe the forecast is rain. We must find some shelter. Come." That was all the warning Harry received before he had to almost run to keep up with the blonde's long strides and fast pace. They walked past many trees. Harry had long ago lost his bearings. He just hoped and prayed that the Prince knew his way. Harry soon got tired but tried to keep up with the man's pace. But he was silently grateful yet very embarrassed when his stomach gave a loud grumble and the Prince heard it. The blonde faltered in his tracks looking back at Harry, who had fallen behind slightly. The Prince seemed to stand there for a long time before he finally made the decision for them to sit and eat.

Harry gratefully slumped down to the ground. The man soon passed him another slice of bread along with a glass of water. Harry looked at the glass with trepidation; he was never allowed to touch any of the glasses within the Dursley's house in case he dropped and smashed them. He did not wish for that to happen to the Prince's glass. "It's alright; even with your ineptness you will be unable to break that glass." The Prince had obviously seen his weariness and, with that said, even though Harry didn't understand the word 'ineptness' he understood the rest and quickly snapped up the glass gulping down the water greedily. He was very thirsty. A quick glance at the Prince's disgusted visage had him sipping it instead. He also tried to eat his bread slower than at breakfast, remembering what the Prince had said that morning. Taking another glance at the Prince, Harry prided himself when he saw the slight curving upwards of the blonde's lips. He had been good. The unconscious tension that had built up within his muscles ebbed away.

They finished eating in silence before the Prince once again packed up the bag and stood fluidly, ready to depart. Harry took a little longer in standing up, wishing not to have to carry on walking; his legs ached. But this had been something else the Dursleys had drilled into him; do not complain, ever. So as the blonde resumed his usual, brisk pace, after once again having a toilet stop, Harry trudged gloomily behind, silencing any protestations that wished to spout from his mouth.

Although Harry had tried to make it unnoticeable, the Prince seemed to have picked up on his fatigue only a short while after they had sat for lunch. The Prince had mutely slowed his pace and even though Harry still trailed behind, there was not such a great gap between them. If they were not in such a rush and had Harry been in less pain he would have truly enjoyed this walk in the woods and through some fields; his eyes would most probably have been transfixed upon the birds which sailed gracefully through the cloud-covered sky, nimbly diving into the canopy of the woods with practised ease. In a few short weeks many of these birds would most likely migrate to other, warmer countries for the winter months, but for now they glided carefree through the mild air. The blonde man also seemed quite content for them to travel in silence but he took no real notice in the scenery surrounding them. He looked as if he was on a mission and he wished for it to be over as soon as possible. Harry was becoming increasingly tired with each step he took and even with all his might he could not keep up with the blonde man's pace. His speed was steadily decreasing and with such the Prince's irritation was increasing accordingly. Finally it seemed the Prince had had enough; he stopped, sighed with aggravation coating his breath before whirling around and bearing down upon the started black haired boy. However many times the Prince did that, Harry had a feeling that he would never get used to it.

"Really, Potter, now due to your incessant dawdling we are far behind schedule and if it stays this way we shall be walking through the whole night, whatever the weather." Harry shrank back; the grey eyes of the Prince were as cold as ice and yet at the same time burned with the intensity of melted metal. Harry didn't know how to respond, when Uncle Vernon was in a rage he stood silently and watched as his face went through all the colours of the rainbow and back again but the only thing that seemed to show this blonde man's feelings was his eyes and the thin line that was his mouth. He didn't know if the Prince liked apologies or liked to rant without interruption. It was as these thoughts flashed through Harry's mind that he felt two firm hands grip either side of him, just under his armpits, lifting him from the ground. He was paralysed with shock and fright. Had he been that bad that the blonde man was going to throw him? Blood pounded in his ears as his heartbeat picked up an impossibly loud and fast rate. He stared with huge eyes at the grey ones of his captor. And it was with enormous relief and even greater shock that the blonde man manoeuvred him onto his back with incomprehensible grace. The Prince took off again at a speed that was almost a jog. Harry clung tightly to the blonde man with Archie clenched within his grip. "And don't you dare get used to this, Potter." The blonde man called to him. "I am definitely not your steed."

Harry nodded his agreement. "Yes Sir." It was becoming dark, and with the sun's absence the wind became bitterer and Harry was having trouble trying not to shiver. He hoped they reached their destination soon, wherever that may be. Harry kept himself occupied by observing everything from his new view point. He had never seen things from such a high vantage point. This was probably the closest he was ever going to come to being able to fly so he absorbed the wind beating in his face, like a sponge does water, messing his hair up even more than usual and the view of being so far from the ground. In his mind he was flying with the birds, soaring high about the multicoloured, autumnal wood and diving recklessly to the ground only to swerve and skim the meadow of the ground beneath, the grass tickling his feet. He inhaled deeply, certain that the air smelt different at such a height; cleaner, fresher. He was so lost within his imaginations that Harry was surprised when he opened his eyes to find that it was raining now. He could see a cave ahead and it seemed this was where the Prince was headed. Harry hoped there was no bear dwelling within this cave. Or bats.

It was only a few minutes later before they had reached the cave. Harry was placed unceremoniously back on his own two feet as soon as they had reached the mouth. Looking up t his captor Harry saw that the blonde man's mouth was once again a thin line. Deciding that it was best to stay quiet, Harry watched the man and then followed him as he delved deeper into the cave. It was dark inside and Harry was unable to see. It was instincts that lead him to grip the Prince's trouser leg, however tight they were. The Prince made a noise that voiced his displeasure but Harry couldn't bring himself to take his hand away from his protector's leg. His response was a whimper and the tightening of his grip. The Prince pulled out a stick and did the most amazing thing. With a whispered word that Harry couldn't understand, the stick within the Prince's hand lit up! Staring wide-eyed at the wooden stick Harry stumbled. The Prince shot a glare at him before he resumed facing where he was going. It was not much further before the Prince decided that they were far enough into the cave and he stopped, abruptly. Harry walked into his leg and stumbled backwards at the impact. He looked up at the blonde man with apologetic eyes. The Prince just rolled his eyes before he rummaged through the bag, pulling out Harry's blanket and one for himself. He tossed Harry's over to him, who took it gratefully and wrapped it around himself and hugged Archie to his chest. The blonde man laid his own blanket onto the floor and dropped gracefully down upon it.

The Prince again searched through the bag and this time pulled out some more food along with the cloth he had given to Harry earlier that morning to wash his hands. He handed the cloth over to Harry who took it with shaky hands and chattering teeth and washed his hands, again marvelling at it. The Prince washed his own hands, then proceeded to create a fire and started to cook dinner. The blonde man sighed, Harry didn't understand why until he spoke, "Potter, get over here; your chattering is giving me a headache." Harry did as he was told. He plopped himself down beside the Prince and found to his surprise that the ground was much warmer. His brows furrowed in puzzlement as he looked at the ground to see the reason for its warmth. "I own a special blanket. Much more sufficient than that rag of yours." Harry also noticed how much more comfortable it was compared to the hard stone floor of the cave. "We are having chicken for dinner. It shall soon be ready. Would you like a glass of water with your dinner?" The Prince's tone was nonchalant yet polite.

"Yes, please, Prince Draco." Harry also adopted a very polite tone; he preferred the Prince when he was like this over the hatred. The blonde gave Harry the same glass he had at lunch and this time Harry took it appreciatively and although he was thirsty, he refrained from gulping the glass' contents down and instead sipped. A slight curve of the blonde's lips showed his approval and Harry's chest swelled with pride; he had been good. It was not long before they were sat chewing at their portions of chicken. The warm chicken along with the glow of the fire had warmed Harry considerably, so much so that he was unable to contain the grin that wished to spread across his face. It was this sense of content and ease that made him wish to talk to the Prince; he wanted to fill the silence. There were so many questions he wanted to ask and he didn't know which to ask first. So he picked one that had been floating around his head all day.

"Where are you Prince of?" His green eyes stared curiously at the blonde man, the orange flame reflecting in them. The Prince tuned his head towards the black haired boy, his expression mildly surprised at the sudden question.

"People call me the Prince of Slytherin." Was his reply. Harry's dark brows furrowed in confusion; he hadn't heard of anywhere called Slytherin. The blonde seemed to understand his unasked question and answered. "You most probably haven't heard of it; you wouldn't have met anyone from Slytherin. Not yet at least."

"I have." It was the blonde's turn to be curious. "I've met you." The Prince snorted softly and shook his head but there was a slight smile touching his lips. Once one question had left his mouth Harry wanted the answers to them all. His next question was quite risky but he wanted the answer anyway. "Where are you taking me?" Harry curled in on himself ready to be told off. Shyly he glanced over at the blonde.

"Far, far away from here. A whole world away I guess you could say. A lifetime away." Harry seemed to find all of the answers of the Prince's to be confusing.

"We're going into space?" He had only heard of astronauts going into space, not five year old boys. He could be the first boy to travel to the moon, see the stars and the sun. His imagination ran away from him again.

But it was short lived as the blonde man laughed and answered, "No, of course we're not going to space. You idiot, Potter." Harry's face flamed with embarrassment and he thought that that was enough answers for one night. He was very tired after all the walking he had done. So he settled down to go to sleep, huddled within his blanket, Archie in a death grip against his chest. It didn't take long for the green eyed boy to fall asleep, dreaming of flying through the sky as blonde haired Princes rode great, grey stallions on the grassy planes of the Earth beneath, his embarrassment completely forgotten.

* * *

Draco had been relieved that the black haired boy had decided to lapse into silence once more; giving him a reprieve from the inane questions that spewed from said boy's mouth. Although if he was quite honest with himself this black haired boy was not as bad as what he had been expecting and dreading. Draco had imagined that Potter would most likely be defiant as when he was at Hogwarts and also would throw tantrums but there was some luck for Draco; Potter seemed quite obedient at the age of five. Draco had been surprised beyond belief that this little Potter had stayed silent as Draco scolded him, not only that but had listened to Draco and had obeyed. Draco had thought that he would never live to see the day that Harry Potter obeyed what he said.

Draco sat quietly comparing the two Harry Potters. Apart from the uncanny similarities in looks the two were very different people. As he turned his head from the flames of the fire he realised why little Potter had been so quiet; he had fallen asleep. The little boy looked angelic as he slept, with no signs of discomfort at all, a small smile gracing his features. Unlike the previous night neither whimpers nor other sounds of the like escaped the little boy's mouth, nor did he toss or turn so much.

Draco sat quietly observing the young Potter under the orange glow of the fire. Potter was small for his age; not only height wise but also skinny. But then even at Hogwarts Potter had been scrawny, it was probably a muggle trait. The mop of hair on his head was just the same as it had always been and the eyes were large when they weren't framed by the glasses. Draco had been quite surprised to find that the Boy-Who-Lived slept in a cupboard under the stairs when he had discovered so a few months ago. It seemed like a life time ago that he was at Hogwarts, worrying over all the stresses he had. Now he was trapped in the past with Potter. He had found it highly amusing when Potter had asked him if he was a Prince. How could he refuse such entertainment? 'Prince Draco' the boy had called him, how ironic that the Chosen One call he, Draco Malfoy, a Prince.

Draco definitely preferred this Potter. He was more like a dog, a House Elf, than the defender of the mudblood kind. Draco had also found it an interesting revelation to find the black haired boy with a stuffed animal. The Gryffindor Idol, the icon of all bravery, taking comfort from a stuffed, broken teddy bear. But it was hard for Draco to see this little boy in the same light as he did the older Potter. Even with the uncanny resemblance there was a difference in this Potter. There was a part of him that shone of innocence and wished for all to be his protector. There was a craving within him that asked someone to look after him, to love him. Draco could not remember the Potter of Hogwarts with such qualities, even at eleven Potter seemed to feel ready to take on the world. Something had obviously happened between the ages of five and eleven to change the black haired one so drastically. But what?

Draco would never know, not after his mission was complete anyway. Deciding that he was too tired to think anymore on the most intriguing subject of one Harry Potter, Draco was about to lay down upon his own blanket when he realised that the five year old had fallen asleep on half of his blanket. He picked the boy up, careful not to jostle him awake; he could not deal with a moody five year old Potter, and moved him so that Draco was able to sleep comfortably on his blanket.

**End of Chapter Two**


	3. The Attack of a Brown Sea

**Chapter Three – The Second Day**

**The Attack of a Brown Sea**

**30****th**** October 1985**

Harry drearily cracked his eyes open. After blinking several times, he pulled his hands up, created fists and rubbed his protesting eyes. There was very little light in the cave; the fire had died down, the embers losing life by the second. Although it was dim, Harry was sure he had slept for a long time and was sure it must be morning especially as his tummy gave a rather large grumble, calling to be fed. There was a low chuckle heard from behind his shoulder, Harry clamped both arms around his stomach and felt his face flame while at the same time whipping his head around to look at the owner of the noise. The Prince brought his head up to look at Harry when he heard the sudden movement and snorted softly. Standing fluidly, the blonde walked over to where Harry was sat and offered something in an extended hand. Harry looked from the blonde man's face down to the out stretched hand and back up again, darting the look so quick he was unable to recognise what the man offered. The Prince extended it further, saying;

"I'm not going to hold it forever, Potter, take it or live with a loud stomach for the rest of the morning." Once Harry had processed what the Prince had said, he looked down into the hand once again to find that the man was, in fact, holding food; left over chicken and some bread. Harry was sure he was going to become very bored of bread, and chicken for that matter, if that was all they ever ate, but didn't say anything. He took the food gratefully and sat eating it half-heartedly. As he gradually became more aware of his surroundings, Harry was surprised to find that he was not in the place he had been the previous night. Although he was still on the Prince's blanket he was closer to the fire and he took up just less than half the width of the blanket. He must have moved a lot in his sleep, had most probably kicked the Prince. He looked up at the blonde without raising his head, just watching through his fringe. The man didn't seem very angry; the thin lips were not there, but he couldn't see the man's eyes clearly. Unknowing of whether the Prince was angry or not, Harry decided to stay silent; he had learnt a long time ago the quieter he stayed, the less punishment he received. And so the rest of their meal passed voicelessly, the Prince obviously not wishing to strike a conversation either.

As they had the morning prior, the two wordlessly set out to pack all of their blankets away into the bag of the Prince's along with the empty plates and glasses of their breakfast. Just as he had before, Harry toddled off, embarrassed, to go to the toilet. Once he reached the mouth of the cave, however, he was stopped within his tracks as he noticed how hard the rain was pelting down upon the already sodden plains of the grass below. He retreated, trotting back inside, deciding to go slightly deeper into the cave to relieve his bladder instead. He ignored the Prince's quizzical gaze as he hurriedly marched by; his need was too great to chat about the outside weather, especially as even just the thought of said weather was making him even more desperate. And it was this desperation that led Harry to just duck off to the side behind a huge bolder, bursting for reprieve, without acknowledging his surroundings fully. Had he been any less frantic he would have been tiptoeing throughout the dimly lit cave with the caution of a cat near water, but he was not. It was not until after he had finished his business and was wrestling with the zip on his trousers that he noticed from the corner of his eyes. There on the roof lay a sea of brown fur. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he fought frantically with the reluctant zip. At the sound of his cry the furry sea began to move, waves of flapping wings rippled towards him and in his panic, Harry froze. They started to whip past him and Harry didn't move a muscle, a frozen statue with the look of horror upon its face.

Harry was only faintly aware of footsteps running up behind him, of strong hands grasping him around the biceps and spinning him round. The blonde hair and pale face of the one in front of him was a blur, like a painting splattered with water, it was just a meld of various colours. The voice of the man calling his name sounded as if it was far away, as if Harry was under water and the man was calling him from the surface. Even the gentle shaking did not rouse him from the depths he was drowning in. A muffled, frustrated sigh was heard and then he was being lifted. The man pulled him against his chest and carried him back to their little camp site but all Harry could see was the flapping wings and brown fur that was the deadly sea. He tried to dispense of the image by shutting his eyes, tight. But the images of the claustrophobic brown fur did not disperse however hard he willed for it to do so.

The beating of his own heart along with the flapping of the animals pounded through his ears, but also he could hear the faint, calming mutterings of the Prince. He tried to grasp and cling to these little wisps of noise; it was as if he was trying to grip hold of a spider's fine, silky thread of web. It took all of his concentration to stay focused upon the gentle, caressing ripples meaning that the flapping around his head gradually receded and he became ever more aware of his current surroundings. In his slightly distant trance Harry realised that he was soothingly being rocked along with the quietening murmurs of the blonde man. He felt his eyelids droop heavily; exhausted after all the commotion. He did not have the ability to fight off the drowsiness that now swamped him. It was with a muted groan of nuisance that the blonde man received the news of the little boy's unconsciousness.

* * *

Harry blearily opened his eye lids for the second time that day to find the Prince sitting over a vast amount of paper work. His brows knitted together in confusion but due to the Prince's concentration, he did not want to disturb the blonde. So, he laid still quietly, his mind still groggy from sleep. But as memories swam back to him, he whimpered and dove himself down under the blanket further, Archie clutched as close to him as feasible. He tried to be as silent as possible, wishing not to disrupt the blonde man, but he couldn't control the small noises erupting from his mouth. He was drowning once again in that sea of brown fur.

A hand clasped his shoulder, stilling the thrashing he had been unaware of. But, still, the fur suffocated him. He was gently shaken by that hand. The flapping wings were everywhere. A voice called his name. The beating of the wings deafened all other noises. He was carefully lifted by strong arms. Many sharp claws dug into his shoulders, lifting him off of the ground by his t-shirt. He was warily cradled against a warm chest. The brown sea pinned him to the wall of the cave. Repeatedly his name was called and hushing, soothing tones surrounded him. They fought off the deadly sea until all that was left were the strong arms and the warm chest. He buried his face into that warmth.

* * *

"Really, Potter, you're scared of _Myotis nattereri?_" Harry heard after a while of silence. He was embarrassed and, as his cheeks flamed, he wanted nothing more than to bury his head in further, but he was also confused by what the prince had said. Deciding that satiating his curiosity was a priority over his humiliation, the black haired boy pulled his head out slightly; allowing for him to see his blond protector.

"Myo...My-o-tiz nat-ri?" He asked.

"_Myotis nattereri._ Or natterer's bat, if you wish to be common."

"How'd you know what bat they are?" Harry asked, genuinely curious, his scare and humiliation completely forgotten.

"By their roost for one, that's where they sleep; not all bats dwell in caves. It's quite a misconception. Then there is the colouring, most of those were juveniles, but the adults are more of a grey." The blonde man explained. Harry was amazed by how much the Prince knew about bats, he himself hadn't noticed any of these things, and even if he had he wouldn't have known what type of bat they were. Harry hated bats. For all that he loved birds and their ability to fly, he was terribly afraid of bats. He wasn't sure quite why it was, but in any case they frightened him beyond reason.

"Now then, the Not-So-Fearless-One, are you ready to leave? It's almost midday and yet we are still within the cave." The prince stood in one fluid motion and Harry, suddenly swamped with the damp chill of the cave, immediately missed the warmth. But, keeping silent, he once again followed the Prince's actions, packing the bag. Harry again, unknowingly, dispersed the evidence of their stay as the blonde did. The only differences from the departure of the previous day was the slower speed with which the blonde man strode and the absence of Archie, who was comfortably nestled in the black bag along with their blankets.

They walked for what seemed like a few hours, at a much more leisurely pace, before the blonde stopped. They sat down and ate just as they had the day before, Harry remembering his manners. It was once again bread and chicken but, as before, Harry kept quiet and they ate in silence. It wasn't until the meal was finished and bladders were relieved that the silence between the two was relinquished, the Prince spoke in a frustrated tone.

"Where is it? We walked around almost the whole perimeter on the other side, and likewise this. So where is it?" Harry shrunk slightly, the Prince sounded angry and Harry knew from experience that if someone was angered they could quite easily lash out at him, even if he wasn't the cause. Therefore keeping as invisible as possible was imperative. "The _Myotis nattereri _were confirmation enough, there should be one close by. And damnit, I need a wash." The man huffed angrily before closing his eyes and breathing out deeply. When he opened his eyes again, the blonde was calm and collected; brushing off lint from his unusual clothing. When he started walking again, the Prince's strides were long and brisk; the only visible sign of his frustration. Harry hurried after him, trying to mind his step as well as keep up with the blonde; it wouldn't do for him to trip while the Prince was in such a mood.

It took them a further hour to locate a stream and Harry quite easily heard the relieved sigh of the blonde, even above his own panting; in his increasing frustration the Prince had quickened his pace to the point where Harry was running after him. Harry watched as the Prince dropped the bag and almost ran to the edge of the stream where he knelt, descended cupped hands into the water and brought them back up to splash the captured liquid onto his pale face, all in a matter of seconds. After savouring the cool wetness on his skin for a short while, the Prince stood and began to remove his attire. First off came the unusual boots, followed closely by black socks. Once the socks were safely ensconced within the boots, the Prince hoisted his shirt off over his head. The blonde man hung his silken shirt upon a nearby branch before pursuing the task of removing his trousers whilst standing. Following a, in Harry's opinion, surprisingly short amount of hopping, the purple trousers accompanied the shirt upon the branch and, to Harry's complete and utter shock and humiliation, the Prince took off his underwear before wading into the deeper section of the stream. Harry stood, cheeks aflame and eyes bulging, entirely perplexed at the idea of the Prince stripping off and walking, butt naked, into a stream. It was not until the blonde man called out to him that Harry came to his senses and began to move once again.

"Potter, are you going to have a wash or not?" Harry all but jumped ten feet, causing him to flush anew. He sidled up to the water's edge, several meters away from where the Prince stood, waist deep in the flowing water, washing the water over his hair. Slowly dropping to his knees, Harry repeated what the Prince had done by scooping up some of the crystal clear, cold water and wetting his face with it. But he was extremely reluctant to copy the Prince's following actions. So, instead, Harry sat at the water's edge, his eyes transfixed on his lone index finger trailing through the water, creating beautiful, abstract patterns in its wake. Harry was so absorbed by the hypnotic action, he was completely unaware of the Prince's movement and was surprised, when the Prince spoke to him again, that the blonde man had moved to the bank and was undertaking the task of drying himself.

"Potter, no companion of mine is going to walk around with a retched stench, no matter how underclass you may be." The Prince finished dressing and came over to a, once again, blushing Harry. The thought of taking all his clothes off in front of the blonde man heating his cheeks.

After a further minute of Harry staying motionless, the Prince sighed, exasperatingly, and began to walk towards him. Harry's arms instinctively wrapped themselves around his body when the blonde man got a hold of his t-shirt's hem and started to lift it higher. "Come on, at least wash your upper body if not all of it," cajoled the Prince.

In acknowledgement to the Prince's persistence, Harry slowly lowered his arms, allowing them to hang limp at his side. With no resistance but a lot of reluctance, Harry let his shirt be lifted up over his head. Harry hung his head low, not allowing himself to see the, most probable, disgusted look on the blonde man's face. He knew the bruises on his arm were still visible. Evidence to the whole world of what a bad boy he had been.

He'd known he would likely be punished for sneaking out of his cupboard in the middle of the night to have a midnight snack. And yet, he had still done so. Nearly getting away with his forbidden feasting, Harry had started to walk back to his cupboard, high on adrenalin and chocolate biscuits, he was the epitome of bravado, but so lightheaded and absorbed was he in his success, Harry didn't see the dustbin, that is not until he stubbed his big toe on the metal monster. It wasn't until after he had cried out, clutching his toe did he realise his mistake. Uncle Vernon came thundering down the stairs like a thousand heards of elephants. His voice low and furious, Uncle Vernon's face had taken on the purple hue that meant Harry was most definitely in trouble. Grasping Harry's upper arm, Uncle Vernon had dragged him back to his cupboard and slammed the door shut, threats of what were to come if there was ever a repeat.

That was three nights ago, the bruises were beginning to fade but still evident enough to be visible even to those who weren't looking for them. And it was only the following night that he received an accompanying set of bruises on the opposite arm from where the Prince himself had clutched painfully onto him.

Wishing to never again see the Prince's face, Harry turned back around to the stream and started to wash. Wash himself clean of all the guilt he felt.

Harry proceeded to wash and wash. His skin turning red and raw, he did not cease in his antics. That is, not until the Prince came and held his arm, preventing him of any further cleansing. It was not a painful grip, not like Uncle Vernon's three nights previous, but it was firm. And Harry had the fleeting thought that the Prince was avoiding contact with the bruises upon his upper arm, instead holding his forearm. Well, of course the Prince was steering clear of the bruises; he was avoiding the proof of what a bad boy he was looking after. He was, after all, disgusted by them and therefore disgusted by Harry as well.

"I think that's quite suffice." The Prince spoke in a tight voice and, looking up into his face, Harry could see thin lips and flashing silver eyes. Harry quivered under those eyes and the blonde man let his arm go as if he had been burned by the touch, repulsed. Harry bowed his head in shame, his arms clutching around his bare upper body. Scuffing at the branches and dead leaves on the floor, Harry tried his hardest not to cry even as his lower lip trembled. Harry saw movement in his peripheral vision but dared not lift his head up, a second later the blonde man gave Harry his t-shirt back.

Hurriedly pulling his t-shirt back on, ruffling his unruly hair up further, Harry saw that the Prince had his back to the boy. As soon as the t-shirt was on fully, the blonde man picked up the bag he had dropped and began to walk slowly. Harry followed, hanging back from the angry Prince.

The following hours they spent trudging back to the cave were the most uncomfortable Harry had ever felt with the Prince. The blonde man knew of his secret, the Prince hadn't been very happy of Harry from the very beginning but now he must absolutely loathe him, Harry was sure. There weren't even birds to distract him from the thick tension; with a combination of the terrible weather earlier in the day, the chill of the wind and the increasing darkness had all assured that the birds would be cosily nestled within their homes for the night. Harry shivered as another gust of wind sent goose bumps rippling up his arms. Uncontrollably his teeth began to chatter and it was with joy that he recognised the cave they had spent the previous night taking shelter within, bats or not safety and shelter was within sight.

Setting up for the night was achieved as the journey back had been; in silent tension. It was not long before a fire was roaring and the pair were sat down to another meal of chicken and bread, Harry huddled up beneath his blanket, Archie tucked into the crook of his arm, and the Prince sat on the opposite side of the fire, a blank if not cold expression upon his face as he watched the flames flicker before his eyes.

Soon after finishing his meal Harry decided to go to sleep, although he wasn't that tired after having a long nap during the day he could think of nothing else to do and he felt uneasy around the Prince, who hadn't moved for at least ten minutes. Harry lay still, not daring to move, willing for sleep to claim him. Again he tried to conjure up his image of the happy family, but each time he did so it wasn't long until the normally blurry man had blonde hair and silver eyes. Those silver eyes looked down upon him in disgust as they caught sight of his arms. It was a long time before Harry was finally able to get to sleep, after reverting back to counting sheep in desperation, but in all the time he spent awake he did not hear the blonde man move once.

**End of Chapter Three**


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